Peter Darman - Carrhae

I swung my sword at the Roman commander’s head but he saw my weapon and met the blade with his own, then used his own sword to chop at my head and strike at my body, blows that I parried with difficulty. Whoever he was this Roman knew how to use a sword. I tried to thrust my spatha at his mail-covered chest but he brought his shield in front of him to block the strike, before trying to lop off my head with a great scything attack with his own blade. I instinctively leaned back in the saddle and his blade missed my flesh by a hair’s breadth. As our horses did their own intricate dances around each other we continued to hack and thrust with our swords, but he countered every strike I made, seemingly without effort, while I had difficulty in fending off his expert sword strokes. Perhaps it would be better to kill him with an arrow!

I pulled Remus back a few feet and then Malik was at my side, pointing his bloodied sword at my opponent.

‘Time to die, Roman. You are alone and surrounded.’

I looked around and saw that he was indeed the only Roman in the immediate vicinity. Behind him, on each side and to his front was a host of Agraci warriors in their saddles with their spears pointed at him. And beside Malik was Vagises, whose horsemen must have either killed or chased away the remaining Romans. As more and more Agraci and Parthian riders gathered round the Roman rested his sword on his right shoulder, his shield still tucked tight to his left side, seemingly unconcerned that he was surrounded by many enemy soldiers intent on killing him.

‘Are you hurt, Pacorus?’ asked Malik with concern.

I shook my head, rivulets of sweat running down my face for it was still very warm.

‘No, my pride is a little dented, that is all.’

The Roman sheathed his sword and slowly removed his helmet to reveal a round face topped by thick curly hair, a square, clean-shaven jaw and a large forehead. He also had a thickset neck. I estimated him to be in his mid-twenties.

‘So you are King Pacorus of Dura. I have heard much about you,’ he said to me in Greek.

His stare was determined, his voice firm.

‘Kill him,’ commanded Malik.

‘Stop,’ I shouted as a dozen Agraci prepared to skewer the Roman with their spears. Malik turned to me with a quizzical expression on his face.

‘My apologies, Malik, but he appears to know me and I would know his identity before you kill him.’

‘You are a famous warlord, Pacorus, it should not surprise you that many have heard of your name.’

‘Indeed you are,’ said the Roman in Agraci. Whoever he was he clearly had knowledge of languages as well as the arts of war. I must confess that I was becoming more intrigued by this individual by the minute.

I turned to Vagises. ‘What is the situation?’

‘We have pushed back the Roman horsemen. I sent five companies to shadow them to ensure they do not return.’

‘Your men are well trained,’ said the Roman, now speaking in Parthian.

‘We’ve had a lot of practice killing Romans,’ sneered Vagises.

Malik smiled. ‘Are you afraid, Roman?’

‘Everyone dies, Prince Malik, therefore it would be foolish and a waste of time to fear that which is inevitable.’

‘As you appear to know all of our identities,’ I said, ‘it would be courteous if you could at least furnish us with your name.’

He smiled. ‘I am Praefectus Alae Mark Antony, deputy commander of the army of Syria.’

The deputy commander of the Roman Army in the east was worth more alive than dead and would command a large ransom, in addition to being a useful bargaining tool in any discussions with the enemy.

‘I think this Roman should be kept alive,’ I whispered to Malik, ‘at least for the time being.’

He looked most unhappy but allowed logic to suppress his bloodlust, slamming his sword back in its scabbard. He pointed at Mark Antony.

‘You are to be taken to my father, the king, who may not be as merciful as his son.’

So our prisoner rode between Malik and myself as we trotted back to the centre of the Agraci battle line, past thousands of Agraci warriors as once more Vagises’ horse archers formed up on the left wing to face what was left of the Roman horsemen. When we arrived at the spot where Haytham’s great black banner hung limply from its flag staff with his lords gathered behind it, we also found Gallia and a grinning Spandarat. Both of them were covered in dust but as far as I could tell there was not a scratch on either of them. As we halted Haytham’s stare settled on the bold figure of Mark Antony.

‘A gift for you, father,’ announced Malik, holding out his arm towards the Roman captive. ‘This is the deputy commander of the Roman army.’

‘Has Agraci custom changed, lord king?’ asked one of Haytham lords. ‘Do we now take prisoners?’

‘Silence!’ barked Haytham, before looking at his son. ‘We do not treat with invaders, Malik, you have made a mistake.’

‘The mistake was mine, lord king,’ I said. ‘I thought you might have a use for such a high-ranking prisoner.’

Haytham nudged his horse forward to take a closer look at this Mark Antony. The latter still maintained an air of calm but averted Haytham’s eyes. He had obviously heard of the king’s ruthlessness and his indifference to suffering. Haytham rode slowly round the captive.

‘Queen Gallia has destroyed the enemy horsemen on their left wing, Pacorus.’ He was talking to me but staring unblinking at Mark Antony. ‘There were thousands of Emesian horsemen and now there are none, is that not so, Gallia?’

‘It is as you say, lord king,’ replied Gallia with pride. I smiled at her.

Haytham continued to circle the prisoner, who was now looking decidedly perturbed. ‘The Romans and their allies think the peoples who inhabit these parts are weak and can be crushed and enslaved with ease. Imagine what they will say when they learn that a woman has beaten them. What will they say in Rome, Roman?’

Haytham halted his horse directly in front of Mark Antony.

‘Rome will be disturbed to hear of such a thing, lord king,’ Antony replied. ‘Tinged with admiration.’ He glanced at Gallia who still wore her helmet, its cheekguards fastened shut. ‘For Queen Gallia’s name is known throughout the world.’

‘What use can I have for this Roman, Pacorus?’ Haytham asked me.

‘To ransom him for a great sum, lord king,’ I answered, ‘for the proconsul of Syria will give you much gold for his safe return.’

‘I have enough gold,’ snarled Haytham. ‘Gallia, it is for you to decide this Roman’s fate.’

Haytham wheeled his horse around and returned to the head of his lords. Mark Antony looked at the mail-clad figure of my wife whose face was still hidden by her helmet’s cheekguards. I looked at Malik who smiled maliciously. He knew as well as me that Gallia hated the Romans and would probably kill him herself.

‘That’s you done for,’ remarked Spandarat to Mark Antony casually as Gallia slowly pulled her bow from its hide case behind her. I made to protest but Malik laid a hand on my arm.

‘No, Pacorus. His life is Gallia’s now.’

A sudden commotion in the rear interrupted her role as Haytham’s executioner as a group of Agraci riders came through the ranks to present themselves to their king. After they had halted I saw that half a dozen had been escorting one man, who now dismounted, pulled aside his black face veil and went down on his knees before Haytham.

‘Princess Rasha has been captured by the enemy, majesty.’

There was a murmur from behind and the king spun in his saddle.

‘Silence!’

He looked down at the prostrate figure before him. ‘Get up.’

The man slowly rose to his feet as I thought of the ramifications of what he had said. If Rasha had been captured then that could only mean that the other Roman legion had captured Palmyra. I closed my eyes and thought of Byrd and Noora. Had they been taken, too, or were their corpses lying on the earth?